


Tolerance

by corpsefluid



Series: Fetish Dump [6]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Consent Issues, Farting, M/M, Masturbation, Mature For Fetish Content Not For Dick Content, Possession, Psuedo Necrophilia, Psuedo-Consent Issues, Scat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corpsefluid/pseuds/corpsefluid
Summary: He was doing itagain.As much as Liquid hated it, it was impossible not to notice. Especially seeing as it was his hand being used.A man Ocelot's age had no business wanking even half as often as he did.Enough was enough.





	Tolerance

**Author's Note:**

> I slipped and put scat in the perfectly wholesome eprocto fic.

He was doing it _again._

As much as Liquid hated it, it was impossible not to notice. Especially seeing as it was _his_ hand being used.

A man Ocelot's age had no business wanking even half as often as he did.

Though Liquid would acknowledge it could be worse, if Ocelot had been in his prime or... _Urgh_ , hired ' _help_.' He didn't want to know what his hand would be used for if Ocelot sought out partners instead of taking matters to hand, but that didn't mean it didn't make him queasy feeling the echoes of second-hand sensations that weren't his. Feeling his hand wrapped around Ocelot's dick and the heat of it throbbing in his hand just as easily as if he'd been alive and touching it himself.

The fact Ocelot didn't think twice about jacking himself off with a dead man's hand was probably fairly low on the list of disgusting aspects. The worst parts were all in the little details.

Never mind the man's apparent interest in Liquid's entire family tree- knowing Ocelot was a sick fuck was an entirely different experience to witnessing it, Liquid certainly wished he could go back to just thinking Ocelot's work/play barrier was terrible.

It had to have been nothing short of a miracle that Mantis hadn't eviscerated Ocelot on his first fucking day on the base.

Enough was enough though.

Ocelot didn't share easily, it was hard to tell just how aware he was when Liquid forced himself into the drivers seat. He seemed not to hear Liquid when he spoke, nor see him, at times he seemed like he was talking to Liquid but the comments were never direct enough to tell.

Surely Ocelot noticed the time missing when Liquid took over, if nothing else.

Once Liquid was actually in control it occurred to him that as much as he wanted to punish Ocelot, he didn't actually want to see what would happen if Ocelot died while he was attached. Or worse, what would happen if Ocelot simply removed the arm he stole from Liquid's body.

He really should have thought of a plan before he took over, but he'd had enough of the randy old fuck using _his_ hand today. Liquid would need to improvise.

Which mostly just meant Liquid would rummage through the safe house until something struck his fancy... and trying very hard to pretend that Ocelot's erection didn't exist.

Ocelot's small pharmacy worth of drugs didn't offer Liquid much, most of the labels had been replaced with what he guessed was Russian cursive, but Liquid wasn't entirely certain Ocelot _hadn't_ been telling him that it was  Cyrillic just to fuck with him. All in all, the only stuff Liquid ended up recognising was a box of aspirin and a digestive enzyme of some kind which both had their standard over-the-counter labels and might have actually been in the safe house before Ocelot moved in.

The rest of Ocelot's luggage was similarly opaque, not that there was much with him, but Liquid had hoped for at least _something_ to use against him.

The fridge was empty, the freezer, well, that was where Liquid finally decided he'd had enough of Ocelot's apparently fairly resilient hard-on. Now a carton of ice cream to the crotch while hard was an incredibly unpleasant experience, but fundamentally a whole lot more pleasant than giving Ocelot a hand job just to stop experiencing his boner. A little suffering to avoid jacking off Ocelot was a fair trade.

And maybe just maybe he missed eating too.

Liquid didn't exactly have the biggest sweet tooth in life, but after months of not beings able to taste or smell food, that ice cream may as well have been a five-star steak dinner.

Fuck if that first spoonful _wasn't_ heaven.

Ocelot's moustache kept getting in the way and was quickly becoming a sticky mess as Liquid shovelled the ice cream into his mouth. Just as Liquid was starting to contemplate giving Ocelot a shave, it felt like someone kicked him in the stomach. After a startled yelp and a quick look around just to make sure it wasn't Ocelot trying to take his body back, Liquid realised it was a slightly more internal pain.

His initial thought was 'poison' but then he remembered the digestive enzymes stashed among Ocelot's drugs and the way Ocelot seemed so picky about the meals he took from the mess... and well, the sickly grumble Ocelot's stomach made before another wave of pain hit.

Well, there was no reason to deny himself for Ocelot's comfort, especially after Ocelot had been so thoroughly helping himself to Liquid's hand.

Maybe, just maybe he'd make sure those enzymes mysteriously disappeared after he finished the carton of ice cream.

It was just petty enough to work.

 

* * *

 

Nausea hit Ocelot like a ton of bricks, not just from the disorientation of coming to, there was a distinct taste of acid at the back of his throat contrasting the sweet taste of his mouth.

Ocelot swallowed to try and get rid of the taste of stomach acid out of his mouth only to have it repeat on him in an unpleasant belch of hot, fizzing ice cream on the back of his tongue. He didn't quite vomit, but almost wished he had with the deep burning ache settling into his chest and throat.

Vomiting would just aggravate his stomach further, but at least he could do something about the reflux, the cramping deeper in his guts told him it was far too late for digestive enzymes to help with anything else he was about to experience though.

He'd feel the ulcers for at least a couple of days, but he'd survive. More immediately though, there was the steadily increasing grumbling of his intestines.

Ocelot found himself hyper aware of every gurgle and shift of his lower digestive tract as the inevitable pressure and discomfort started to build. At some point in his near future he knew he was going to start essentially shitting himself inside-out, but the real question was how much he'd have to suffer until then. Which could have been anywhere from a few minutes to a few days at near complete random.

No matter how long it took, it was going to smell bad enough to strip the paint from the walls. That was a given to any lactose intolerance slip up.

Fuck it, he'd just camp out in the tiny bathroom for when he'd inevitably end up pissing his entire digestive tract out his arsehole.

The first fart to escape was practically just an air leak compared to the horror lurking in his bowels at this point. The subsequent gas was hotter and wetter sounding, getting louder and more disgusting with each outburst.

Ocelot dropped his trousers and planted himself on the toilet rather than risk it further. With the agonising cramping only getting worse, sure he'd rather just curl up in bed, but that was also a potential mess he really didn't fancy cleaning up.

The toilet bowl only enhanced the sound of the thunderously loud, sloppy sounding farts and the damaged bathroom fan was completely helpless to dissipate the sticky, sulphurous stench even if he managed to hold back for more than a minute with the rapidly increasing pressure of his bloating insides.

By the ten minute mark it was like he was inhaling through one end and exhaling through the other, his churning guts producing no less than three boisterous, arsehole scalding farts every minute he sat there.

The first turd to breach hit the bowl with a dry thunk before Ocelot had a chance to process something solid was passing. That was rapidly followed but a torrent of shit roughly the consistency of mud, only interspersed with the occasional howl of escaping gas causing a brief sputter before resuming the disgusting flow.

The second Ocelot got a brief reprieve, he flushed before he was overtaken by another diarrhoeic shit splattering into the filthy water.

A couple of flushes later Ocelot was finally treated to a gut wrenching, slopppy-sounding but dry fart. After grunting out two more similarly dry though no less foul farts, Ocelot was able to clean himself up. His arse hole was tender enough already without all the wiping, but really at this point it was only going to get more tender until his bowels settled down long enough to give it a break.

The thick, muggy stench of the bathroom was getting overwhelming.

Of course Ocelot was barely out of the bathroom five minutes before the air quality outside was exactly as spoiled thanks to his overly talkative arse. In about ten minutes he needed to make a dash for the bathroom again.

After an hour or two of back and forthing between the bed and the bathroom for what amounted to just particularly nasty farts, Ocelot gave up and settled into the bed. He was worn out as hell but chances were he was safe to just suffer whatever gas was left without making a mess of himself.

Lying back, Ocelot spat into his hand and shoved it down his pants. He wasn't particularly horny (even if he was, lactose farts were an incredibly efficient mood killer,) there just wasn't anything else _to do._ As long as jerking off was a viable time waster, he may as well indulge.

The inevitable torrent of cursing from Liquid's phantom absolutely made it worth it.

 


End file.
